


Captive of the Viking

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bedsharing, Benny/Andrea, Blowjobs, Canon Typical Violence, Come as Lube, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Dry Humping, Implied Underage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sam/eileen - Freeform, Somnophilia, Twink!Cas, Viking!AU, implied prior sam/lucifer (abusive), primarily bottom!cas, primarily top!dean, prior naomi/castiel (abusive), switch!cas, switch!dean, viking!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Dean the Ruthless is consumed by his need for vengeance. He takes his enemy’s widowed nephew, Castiel, as his slave… His captive might fight him at first, but Dean knows he’ll soon tempt Castiel into his bed.Castiel’s marriage only ever bought him fear and pain, but powerful Viking Dean is nothing like his cruel wife. And the longer he stays with his captor, the more he wants to give in to the new sensations the ferocious warrior evokes in him. Will he give in to this ferocious warrior’s seduction?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my entry for the [Destiel Harlequin Challenge](https://destielharlequinchallenge.tumblr.com/). I was very lucky to get this prompt because it was oh so much fun to write :)
> 
>  **Prompt:** Aric the Ruthless is consumed by his need for vengeance. And so he takes his enemy's widowed daughter, Lady Fearn, as his slave… His fiery captive may fight him at first, but he knows he will soon tempt her into his bed!
> 
> Fearn's marriage brought her only fear and pain, but powerful Viking Aric is nothing like her cruel husband. And as her captor's seduction awakens her to new sensations, dare she hope this ferocious warrior could become the husband she deserves?
> 
> Thank you so much to my lovely beta reader [@blue-reveries](http://blue-reveries.tumblr.com) and to [@dr-dean](http://dr-dean.tumblr.com) for helping me with my outline. 
> 
> Please feel free to come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com)!

**** Dean swore on his father’s deathbed that he’d watch out for Sam. Swore it to his dying father in the memory of his dead mother that he would take care of his younger brother. For years, Dean did just that. He kept Sam from the same Viking lifestyle that had made their father rich but also stolen his life, the very same one Dean was so skilled at and that allowed him the resources to keep Sam safe. 

When Sam took an interest in becoming a scholar early on. Dean encouraged his brother wholeheartedly to pursue this, knowing full well that books were far safer than raids. After years of searching, he found a prominent merchant interested in taking on a protege. Someone with wealth and resources to help further Sam’s education and to help him establish himself as a librarian or a banker or whatever other trade took his fancy. 

Lucifer Goddson. 

Dean curses the name now, but when he’d first met the man he seemed perfect. Rich and respected, Lucifer had taken a liking to Sam early on. If only Dean had stayed longer… 

Months after being entrusted to Lucifer’s care, Sam showed back up at their village. He had bruises he wouldn’t explain, his clothes torn and his body leaner than Dean could remember seeing it. Though Sam wouldn’t say a word as to what happened, it was clear enough. 

Lucifer had hurt his brother, and Dean was going to make him pay for it.

As a Viking, it was easy enough to start. Lucifer was a merchant, had a whole fleet of ships, and Dean took his men and picked off those ships one by one. He took no prisoners, showed no mercy, envisioned it was Lucifer’s head he was bashing in each time he raised his blade. It'd earned him the nickname Ruthless. Admittedly, Dean liked the name, but it did little to assuage his rage. What was the point of a name if it didn’t bring him closer to revenge?

And then word came to him of a young man. 

Lucifer had a nephew. A nephew about the same age as Sam was when he first went to stay with Lucifer. Although Lucifer cared very little for his family as individuals, he cared deeply for his family name. Any slight to his nephew would be seen as a slight to Lucifer himself. 

And so a plan formed. Dean would kidnap this young man and seduce him just as Lucifer did with Sam. He’d wrap this boy so thoroughly around his fingers, he wouldn’t know which way was up. And then, once he’d fully succumbed to Dean, he’d cast him out. Abandon him as publicly as he could, let the whole world see his fall from grace; no longer the virtuous and dutiful adopted son, he’d bring shame not only to himself but to Lucifer as well. 

As soon as he could, he grabbed his crew and set sail for Helheim.

He had a young man to defile.

\----

The wind blew in warning of a coming storm. Not that such passing gales were uncommon in his village, but Castiel saw it as particularly appropriate for his current mood. He hated visiting the little cemetery at the edges of town, and moreover he hated that he  _ had _ to.

He stood between the parallel lines of gravestones, having found the one marking his wife’s grave. It was already weathered with age despite being but a few months old—being so close to the ocean spray caked it with sand and salt, wearing away the stone prematurely—and Castiel wondered whether he should bother tending to it.

He decided against it; Naomi might have been his wife, but he owed her no favors in life and certainly not in death. She’d been terrible to him, and she certainly deserved none of his affection now that she was gone. 

Here he was: married at sixteen, a widower at eighteen, and completely at the mercy of his uncle once more.

His uncle was a cruel man, though few in their village knew him as such. They saw him as the merchant responsible for Helheim flourishing. The man who’d generously taken guardianship over his orphaned nephew. The man who took in young men and women as apprentices, nourished their talents and sent them into the world far more capable than they’d been before they’d stayed with him. A man who gave lavishly to his church and his community, who was the model citizen they all esteemed to be.

That had not been Castiel’s experience with his uncle. 

True, Lucifer was wealthy and had raised Castiel since his parents died when he was but five, but he was no gentle caretaker. He’d never laid a hand on Castiel, but he’d never spared him a gentle word or a moment’s consideration. Castiel had always felt more like a pet or a showpiece than a surrogate son. 

And then there’d been his marriage to Naomi…

Castiel shivered, remembering how his uncle had more or less auctioned him off to the wealthy families nearby. He was the fifth in a long line of young husbands Naomi had kept and then lost in tragic, if not suspicious, circumstances. It only took one day to find out why; he’d been hit and beaten and burned on their wedding night, hurt in all the ways he’d feared from his uncle but that had never actually experienced.

The only reason Castiel had outlived his wife was because of Lucifer’s meager protection. When he saw the wounds on his nephew’s body, he’d wrinkled his nose in distaste and taken Naomi aside. At first Castiel thought it was some sort of tender regard for him that had caused his uncle to intervene, but that soon proved not to be the case. Her abuse needn’t stop, but it was never to happen in public and never to leave a visible mark. If Castiel so much as favored one leg over the other or winced as he sat down, Lucifer promised retribution.

And why? Because Castiel was  _ his _ nephew. He was a member of the Goddson clan, and slight against anyone who bore that name was a slight against Lucifer.

Honestly, Castiel thought Lucifer would behave the same way if someone whipped his horse too violently.

Naomi’s death had meant the prospect of freedom for a few moments, until his uncle snatched it away. Now he found himself locked back in his gilded cage, kept in Lucifer’s keep. His only escape was when he went to pay his respects to his late wife’s grave. 

He spit on the dirt, knowing that was far more respect than she deserved. 

“I’m glad you’re dead,” he whispered. It felt sacrilegious to speak so ill of the dead, so he kept his voice down as he continued. “You killed your other husbands, as you would’ve killed me. I hope you’re rotting in the darkest pits of the underworld.”

Abruptly, Castiel was cut off from saying more. Church bells rang loudly, clamouring over the sound of the roaring waves. A warning of an attack, for everyone to seek shelter or a weapon. 

He froze in fear. Castiel couldn’t fight, and he was too far away to find a place to hide. Of course it was unlikely for anyone to search the cemetery if they were seeking riches or prisoners— 

“Down there!” 

A half dozen Vikings descended the bluffs and headed straight for him. There was no doubting their intention, but Castiel could barely force his legs to work. On wobbly legs, he sprinted back to the village. Perhaps if he got close enough, he could call for help.

That hope died quickly. 

His feet were knocked out from under him and Castiel experienced a profound sense of vertigo as he was grabbed before he even hit the ground and hefted over broad shoulders. He struggled weakly, but it did nothing to loosen the iron grip around him as he was whisked away to the shore. A firm grip is kept on him as he’s thrown onto a rowboat and they push off towards a ship. They ignored him once they hit the deeper waters. Castiel briefly considered jumping overboard and trying to get away, but the waves were too choppy with the impending storm and he wasn’t a strong swimmer on the best of days. 

With a resigned sigh, he settled in and waited to see what the Vikings had in store for him. 

The man who’d carried him stood at the end of the board and blew into a large horn, calling the other Vikings back to the ship. Castiel watched as other groups appeared on the shore and followed them back. Smoke plumes rose from the village, but fewer than Castiel might have feared. He prayed no one was seriously hurt, and certainly hoped no one else was taken captive.

When they drew alongside the Viking ship, Castiel was hefted on board. The bearded man who was apparently his keeper brought him up to the ship’s prow and tied him to it. It was a curious prow at that; instead of a dragon’s head or some other fierce beast, it was some kind of deer with long, curved horns. The craftsman responsible for it had clearly meant to make the creature look fierce, but there was something almost friendly about the carving. Castiel kept his focus on it; perhaps it would offer him strength and courage.

Soon the other Vikings arrived and they immediately set off; a crew of no more than twenty took their places at the long rows of benches lining the ship and began to row. A man, his armor more intricately designed than the others, confidently strode towards where Castiel waited. Castiel was pushed forward and onto his knees as the man arrived, standing before him and giving Castiel an appraising look.

“Well, he’s a pretty one, ain’t he?” the man said with a wink.

The crew laughed but kept working. Clearly this man was in charge, their captain or leader or whatever the Vikings called such a man. 

“Put him in my cabin, I’ll be there soon.”

And like that, Castiel found himself forced back to his feet and lead below deck. There was barely any room down here, only two doors and he suspected one was for storage. He was lead through the smaller door, having to stoop to enter and not even able to stand up straight once inside, and tied to a hook on the far wall. 

Only once he was alone did he allow himself to take in the cabin. There were no windows, only a small mattress pushed against one wall and a chest against the other. The bed took up most of the space, leaving only a small aisle left to walk from one end of the room to another. There were no other furnishings, no decorations, nothing to suggest this was space belonged to any one person in particular. Only a small lantern on the wall provided any light at all, the candle flickering ominously with each sway of the ship. 

There was also nothing for Castiel to do but sit and wait. His bindings had little give—he couldn’t even reach the bed and sit on it—and he didn’t see the point in trying to free himself. He’d seen the look of the men and women on deck, knew they’d easily outpower him, knew that he could never work a rowboat on his own. Escape was impossible, any attempt likely to get him beaten if not killed, so it was best to wait until he was on solid ground. 

No more than half an hour passed before Castiel heard footsteps approaching. He flinched when the door opens, the light from outside blocked by the man’s silhouette. Before he could decide what to do, the man was before him.

“Are your wrists okay?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle as he unbound Castiel and rubbed the raw skin to help the blood flow back into it. “Sorry about that. Benny gets a little carried away. I told him to take it easy on you—that you’d be frightened—but he was worried we’d be overtaken before getting back to the ship.” The man looked up at Castiel through his lashes; he looked nothing if not apologetic. “Not that that’s any excuse for hurting you.”

“My wrists are alright,” Castiel croaked. He swallowed, trying to soothe his dry throat, and tried again. “Though I’d like to know why I’ve been kidnapped.”

Instead of answering the challenge, the man pulled away. Castiel, who’d not felt such a gentle touch since his parents died, felt bereft of the contact. He immediately scolded himself for thinking such a thing. This man was a Viking. This man had  _ kidnapped _ him. This man didn’t have him here in his cabin to be his guest.

“Would you like some dinner?”

… Or perhaps he did.

“What?”

The man produced some cheese and bread, both on their way to going stale but at least not moldy, and some fruits. He reclined on the bed, legs spread out to emphasize the slight bow to them, and started eating. His posture was so distracting, so  _ suggestive _ , that Castiel missed the next few words.

“What?”

“I said, you’re probably hungry, after the ordeal you’ve had today. Have some dinner. Sorry I don’t have more to offer, but we’re three days at sea and the fish haven’t been biting. Not that we’re much good as fishermen, but still.” He held out a wedge of cheese to Castlel. “Name’s Dean, by the way.”

Castiel didn’t want to accept, but his treacherous stomach growled and reluctantly he took the cheese. “Thank you.”

A blinding smile answered him. “You’re welcome…?”

“Castiel.”

“Castiel, then. Please—” Dean gestured to the empty side of the bed. “—join me.”

If Dean meant him any harm, he could have easily done it by now. Seeing no reason to make himself uncomfortable simply to be stubborn, he sat on the very edge of the bed and nibbled at his food. It wasn’t terrible, though not nearly as good as what Lucifer’s cook prepared. 

Thinking of Lucifer right now did nothing to ease his nerves. Being at his uncle’s mercy was awful, always waiting for him to marry him off to the next person willing to pay the right price, though Castiel was far from thinking it would be any better with these Vikings. Despite Dean’s pleasing looks and hospitality, he had no idea what Dean had planned for him.

“What do you want with me?”

Ignoring the question, Dean leaned in and brushed a strand of hair behind Castiel’s ear. “You have lovely eyes.”

Castiel flushed but didn’t let himself be distracted. “Your men kidnapped me. You’re holding me prisoner as you sail away from my home. What do you want with me?”

Dean sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I’m looking for a new lover.”

That was blunt.

And not as unappealing a prospect as it should be. 

“Do I get a say in this?” Castiel asked, grip tightening. He’d never known anything in his life but being forced into situations he didn’t much care for. So soon after being free of Naomi, here he was again.

“Whoa, calm down.” Dean put up his hands to placate him. “My men picked you because you’re my type, but I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. It’s an offer, one you’re free to turn down or accept whenever you want.”

“So… I can leave if I want to? Go back to my village?”

Dean eyed him seriously. “You want to go back?”

Did he? 

His village meant safety from Dean and the other Vikings, but it guaranteed he'd end up back in Lucifer's clutches and likely in another marriage that at best was loveless and at worst...

Remembering Naomi, he shivered. 

He knew what life at home would be like; whatever Dean offered was a mystery. Castiel wanted a chance at happiness, however slim, and recognized he wasn't going to find it in Helheim.

“No,” Castiel admitted. “I don't want to go back.”

“Good.” Dean gathered up the remaining food and put it on the chest. Wiping his hands of on his britches, he looked down at Castiel with a smile. “Lover or not, I'd like to keep you around. It gets lonely back home by myself, and a companion would be perfect.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but then Dean began pulling off his leather armor and shirt. Tongue tied, he was helpless to do anything other than watch tan, toned skin being revealed inch by delicious inch. Dean was a beautiful man, but seeing his bare chest covered in a mix of scars and faint be tattoos stirred something primal in Castiel. He longed to touch, to trace every line of ink, to taste-

Dean smirked at him as if he knew exactly what he'd been thinking. Embarrassed, Castiel turned away.

“No need to be shy,” Dean teased as he kicked off his boots and crawled into the bed.

“What are you doing?” Castiel yelped and jumped up. 

Dean ignored him and instead pulled one of the fur blankets around him. Once satisfied, he held open one end. “Coming to bed?”

“With you?” Castiel was scandalized; he'd only ever shared a bed with Naomi, and even that had been no more than a handful of a times. Naomi's interest in Castiel had manifested in many ways, but few had been sexual or even friendly. She preferred to sleep alone, and Castiel had been grateful for that. 

The prospect of finding himself with a new bed partner wasn’t alluring, even if Dean seemed kinder than Naomi ever had.

“It's either that or the floor.”

Castiel looked at the bed and truly, calling it a ‘bed’ was generous; it was a thin mattress of straw covered in furs in attempt to soften it, a small frame to keep it in place, and no pillows. Then Castiel looked at the small floor space between the bed and the chest, saw the splinters in the wood and the small dip where a plank bowed. The bed was certainly the more comfortable option.

“Are there no other beds on the ship?” 

“Not really. I’m sure the crew could find you some furs to use if you’d rather sleep with them on deck. Though I can’t guarantee they’d leave you alone. Pretty boy like you’s gonna attract attention, and you might end up with a bedfellow who’s not as polite and respectful as I am.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Castiel considered his options. The floor wasn’t an option and as much as he dreaded sleeping next to Dean, he felt safer here than exploring the ship and hoping the crew would leave him be. With a sigh, he gave in and wiggled under the fur next to Dean. Dean rewarded him with a smile, made sure Castiel had plenty of blankets, then turned over to face the wall and went to sleep. 

Dean’s back was covered in tattoos. In the dim light, Castiel traced them with his eyes. They were as beautiful as the man they were on, and thinking that didn’t help his situation. This man sought a  _ lover _ , and Castiel wasn’t interested.

If that were true, though, why was he so disappointed that Dean was true to his word and didn’t force himself on Castiel?

\----

The rest of the short voyage, Castiel either hid inside Dean’s cabin or hid behind him on deck. The crew was just as fearsome now as before, but they paid him little mind. Every night, Castiel was filled with a mix of dread and anticipation as he waited under the covers for Dean. And every night, Dean was a perfect gentleman who kept his hands to himself and stayed on his side of the small mattress.

Which was good, of course. That was what Castiel wanted. 

Except the short trip tested that resolve again and again. Dean was so genuinely curious about Castiel and his life, as uninteresting as it was, and was kind to him in ways no one else had ever been. Dean  _ listened _ . Dean paid attention to him. Dean treated him like a  _ person _ . 

Castiel could do worse.

It was a relief to reach Dean’s village, Lawrendalr. Castiel hadn’t quite found his sea legs and he thought the additional space would allow him the time to clear his jumbled thoughts and feelings about Dean. He knew the way his thoughts and desires were trending, and he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted. All he could decide on was that he was  _ open _ to Dean’s advances. Time would tell if Dean’s affection and interest were genuine, or if he’d get bored and find a more willing lover.

As soon as they reached the small dock at Lawrendalr, the Viking crew dispersed. Their family and friends were waiting nearby to greet them, and they all headed home to enjoy themselves. Which left Castiel standing awkwardly on the periphery, wondering how things would work now.

“C’mon.” Dean didn’t wait to see if Castiel was following, just shouldered his bag and started walking. “I’ll show you my place.”

They wove through the streets, Castiel struggling to keep up with Dean’s long stride. The walk was too fast for him to truly get his bearings and look around, and though he tried to remember the path they took, he knew he’d get lost without Dean’s help. 

“Don’t worry,” Dean said as if he could read Castiel’s thoughts. “I’ll give you a tour in a bit. First I wanna get settled at home, make sure you’re comfortable there, and maybe get a real meal in you. We won’t be going on another raid for a while yet, there’ll be time to see everything before then.”

They veered down a path that led out of the busier parts of the village, a small home at the end of a dirt road. It could only be Dean’s place—there was nothing else here—and Castiel thought it looked… dilapidated was a harsh word, but he couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. It clearly needed tending. The structure itself seemed solid, the thatch roof in good repair and the wood only slightly weathered, but there was no care or love put into it. The garden had grown wild (the flowers were beautiful, so perhaps Castiel could salvage it) and the house desperately needed some sort of decoration. A wind chime at the very least. 

It actually cheered him to find the house in such a state; Dean might never get a willing lover from him, but he could at least take care of the house and be useful. 

As Castiel listed all the things he would need to do, as well as made guesses about the state of the interior, he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted a dog round the corner. 

The dog, an elkhound, was massive, standing to Castiel’s navel and with paws that could easily maul a man if the beast wanted to. As Castiel and Dean drew near, the dog perked up and watched Castiel intently, licking his chops.

Dean put a comforting hand around Cas’ shoulder. “Bobby’s a beast of a hound, but he’ll let you be once I tell him to. Might take him a while to get used to your scent, though.”

Without warning, the dog lurched forward and jumped onto Castiel, almost knocking him to the ground with the sheer weight of his paws on Cas’ chest. Whiskey colored eyes stared into Castiel’s soul, eyeing him intently before the beast licked a long stripe up Cas’ cheek. He barked happily, fluffy tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Huh.” Dean’s expression was unreadable. “He’s… never taken to someone so quickly.”

Castiel rubbed behind the dog’s ears and he nuzzled happily against Castiel’s cheek. “I thought Bobby was one of the men in your crew?”

“He is.” Whatever had passed through Dean’s mind moments ago was gone, replaced with obvious fondness for his pet. “Named the dog after him. He  _ hates _ it. Worse than that, actually. He hates that he loves the damn dog.” Dean grabbed the dog into a hug. It barked happily before pushing away and sitting happily at Dean’s feet. “Tried to teach the damn mutt to be an attack dog and come on raids with me, but it didn’t work out.”

“Too friendly?” Castiel asked knowingly.

Dean laughed. “Hell no. A man once tried to break into my home while I was away and Bobby ripped his throat out. Poor guy gets seasick.” He pat the beast on the side and continued onward to the house. The dog followed his master eagerly, though he looked back to make sure Castiel was following.

The inside of the home was much bigger than Dean’s cabin on the ship (Castiel was at the very least grateful that he could  _ stand _ without bumping his head), but was just as sparsely furnished. The house was but one room with a firepit running along the center of it. A bench was built into the far wall, perfect for both cooking and eating. Dried meat and vegetables hung over the bench, and Castiel’s mouth watered at the sight. At this point, he’d be glad for anything other than stale bread and cheese, but the meat in particular looked delicious. 

Opposite the bench were stacks of chests and crates, no doubt filled with food as well as Dean’s spoils from raids. And in the farthest corner was a single bed, a shield mounted to the wall above it (the only decoration in the entire home, much to Castiel’s dismay; he’d hoped to gain a better insight into Dean). His heart fluttered at the realization that they’d continue to share a bed, though he made sure to note that this bed was much larger than the one on the ship. He’d be afforded more space and be even less likely to have to wake up in Dean’s embrace, a fantasy that he sometimes indulged in. 

All in all, the home was completely utilitarian… and yet Castiel still felt more at home here than he ever had at his uncle’s keep or Naomi’s homestead. 

Dean settled in, putting away his few things from the boat and grabbing a snack for him and Castiel to share. The whole time, Bobby weaved around Dean’s legs. It was a wonder that Dean didn’t trip over the dog. 

Castiel watched, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “You have a lovely home.” And he meant it; the idea of a home, a space all his own, that he alone was master of, had always eluded him. His memories of his parents’ house were muddled at best, mostly lost our distorted by time. 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean had only started using the nickname a day ago, and Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about it. For no reason he could quite pin down, he liked hearing it, yet it seemed overly familiar. No one has ever given Castiel a nickname despite years of acquaintance. They'd only known each other three days. 

Of course they'd shared a bed each night. 

“So...” Dean clapped his hands together. “Not a whole lot. Basically just what you see. If there's anything you need to make yourself more comfortable, lemme know and I'll see what I can do.”

Castiel was unsure if he should mention it, but…

“There's only one bed,” he blurt out.

“Well yeah. I thought I'd be bringing back a lover. Don't need two beds for that.” Dean's smile was gentle as he strode over and out a reassuring hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Don't worry, it'll be just like on the ship. Easier even, since it's a bigger bed. I'll give you your space. Hell, I won't even be around all the time and you'll have the place to yourself.” 

A quick squeeze and a pat, then Dean was walking back to the door. “C'mon, I'll show you around town a bit. Introduce you to the neighbors.”

As they walked the entire length of the village, Castiel did his best to take it all in, memorize every path, learn every face. He was committed to making things work here. These people, despite being mostly Vikings, were friendly and welcomed him without caring who his family was or what he could  _ do _ for them. It was refreshing and reaffirmed Castiel's desire to fit in and find a place for himself here. 

When they finally returned to Dean's house, Dean went inside to prepare dinner while Castiel stayed outside to play fetch with Bobby. The rhythm of throwing the leather ball helped relax him. In all his life, Castiel had visited perhaps two other villages, and none with the intention of staying there long. Learning this new place was draining, and he longed for a home cooked meal and a warm bed. 

Soon, Bobby broke off their game of tag and bolted towards the front door. A moment later Dean appeared to let him know dinner was ready. It amused Castiel to see the mutt  knew his owner so well, and he followed them both inside.

Dean took a fresh loaf out of the fire and broke off a piece for Castiel. It was still hot, lightly burnt on one side but otherwise perfect. Castiel accepted the bread, breathing in the divine scent of grain and nuts. It tasted as good as it smelled, especially once dipped in the honey Dean offered him. 

“I didn’t know you baked your own bread,” Castiel said between bites. Admittedly, the grain was coarse and got stuck in his teeth, but that was a small price to pay for such a delicious treat.

“Who else would make it for me?” Dean asked.

Once again, Castiel was reminded of just how  _ different _ things were here. In his uncle and Naomi’s homes, there were cooks to handle the meals. Despite having the wealth to hire a cook if he wanted to, Dean chose to cook for himself. More than that, the very notion of someone cooking  _ for _ him had never crossed his mind.

They talked while they ate, mostly about Castiel's impressions of Lawrendalr and its people. Every compliment Castiel gave, whether about the ale he'd sampled or the idyllic landscape, Dean would beam as though he himself had been praised. The conversation was light and easy in a way Castiel has so rarely experienced in Helheim. It made him hopeful for his future here. 

But then the moment was ruined when Dean leaned forward. He cradled Castiel's cheek in his hand and Drew his thumb across his lips to brush away crumbs. Even after, his hand lingered a moment longer than it needed to. Castiel's heart fluttered at the touch, but as soon as Dean pulled his hand away, he was hit with a sobering realization.

This man wasn't his friend. This man had kidnapped him with the intent of taking him as a lover. Sure, right now Dean was amiable and hadn't pressured him for a physical relationship, but if he changed his mind or grew tired of Castiel’s reticence… Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Dean held the greatest potential for problems.

\----

Moving forward, Castiel tried to balance his tentative friendship with Dean against mistakenly leading him on.

Despite Castiel's fears, Dean continued to be nothing but the perfect host. He was friendly and went out of his way to make Castiel feel at home. To be sure, there were still lingering touches and longing gazes, but Dean never pushed. Even when they slept, Dean respectfully kept to his side of the bed.

It wasn't until Dean left to lead a raid that Castiel learned how much he missed the Viking's company. 

He woke up one morning, the bed cold and empty even with Bobby occupying Dean's usual spot. Once the dog noticed he was awake, he barked and licked his chops.

“I know,” Castiel whined as he cuddled the big bear skin closer. “I miss him too.”

The dog moved closer to him and laid his head across his thigh. Absentmindedly, he scratched behind the dog’s ear and tried not to think too much about why he missed Dean so much. They stayed in bed for another hour, Bobby snuggling close and Castiel being mopey. 

The only reason he finally forced himself to get up was because he  _ needed _ to. Dean was a Viking; this wouldn’t be the only time he left for days on end, and Castiel needed to learn how to live here without him being around. That meant going out into the village, maybe working on Dean’s rather pitiful garden, and learning how to cook. 

He was hesitant to go out, but Bobby tagged along and Castiel was instantly reassured. Not that he thought anyone would try to hurt him, but he dog’s presence was still welcome. Over the next few days, he finally learned how to navigate Lawrendalr. He met the non-Viking villagers, who were extremely curious about Dean’s captive and very helpful. 

Several of them had been captives themselves, though they no longer referred to themselves as such. They’d been here so long, grown to become members of the community, and viewed their connection to Lawrendalr as stronger than the one they’d felt to their birth homes. Andrea in particular, the wife of Dean’s crewman Benny, took a liking to Castiel. She taught him how to cook some of the local dishes and helped give suggestions about the garden. As much as Castiel appreciated her help (and was pleased that he’d have some surprises for Dean when he got home), he was even more grateful to have found a friend.

Just as Castiel felt comfortable in the village, there was a brief incident. 

At the heart of Lawrendalr was a long hall. The outside was plain, but inside it was decorated with shields and all manner of weapons. A long fire pit went through its center and table after table was set around it. It served as meeting hall and communal dining hall, always filled with activity and offering a place to talk or cook with others. Castiel didn’t come often—he barely knew anyone and he preferred to try his hand at cooking alone—but today Andrea wanted to teach him how to make a lamb stew. 

Castiel had barely arrived when he was grabbed around the waist and pulled in against a man’s chest. For the briefest of seconds, Castiel’s cheeks heated up and he licked his lips in anticipation. Dean was back, and in that moment he was so thrown off balance, he was sure if Dean leaned in to kiss him he’d let him. But when he looked up, unfamiliar dark eyes stared down at him, a leer on the man’s face as his left hand dipped down to palm at Castiel’s ass. 

Oh no. 

“Pretty thing you are,” the man said, his beard tickling Castiel’s cheeks as he spoke. Castiel couldn’t help but wince and try to squirm away, but the man’s grip tightened. “I could keep you company tonight. Keep you warm and make sure you’re satisfied…”

“That’s enough,” Andrea snapped as she physically stepped between them and pushed the man back. “He’s not interested.”

Castiel cowered behind Andrea. It was ridiculous—she was a good head shorter than him and not nearly as intimidating as the man she was standing up to—but he couldn’t help trying to distance himself from the man’s foul breath and his predatory gaze. 

“I think that’s for  _ him _ to decide—”

“You got your head up your ass, Cole? He’s Dean’s. Walk away, or prepare to get a sword through your belly when Dean gets back.”

The man grew pale and started to back away. “Apologies,” he said, arms raised. “I didn’t… didn’t know you were Dean’s. I wouldn’t have—“ He said no more as he more or less fled the hall. 

Andrea acted as though nothing had happened, leading Castiel to the fire pit and talking about ingredients. Halfway through her explanation, though, she stopped mid-sentence and looked at Castiel in concern.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I’ve never had that… Does that happen often?” 

Andrea sighed and wiped her hands off before coming closer to Castiel and hugging him. He melted into the embrace, glad for the physical comfort after the incident with Cole. 

“Sometimes,” she admitted as she let him go. “But you’re new. Cole didn’t know to keep his hands to himself. Soon the whole village will know you’re Dean’s and you won’t have any trouble.”

Still shaken up, Castiel tried to distract himself by cutting up pieces of lamb. Andrea followed suit. 

“But I’m  _ not _ Dean’s. He and I… We don’t… We’re not like you and Benny.”

Unsurprised, Andrea shrugged. “ And no one needs to know that. What happens behind closed doors doesn't matter. Use Dean's name to protect yourself. That’s how this works.”

“It feels…” Castiel struggled for the right word. “Dishonest.”

“Dishonest—? Oh, you really are new.” Andrea chuckled and pinched his cheek. “Who cares? It’s honest in all the ways that matter: whatever you are to Dean, Dean's taken you into his protection. If someone tries to hurt you, they'll answer to Dean. And  _ trust me _ when I say no one wants that to happen. He’s not called Ruthless for nothing. Never lost a battle and never let anyone hurt those he cares about—” Andrea abruptly cut off. “The point is, of all the things you have to worry about,  _ that _ shouldn't be one of them.”

He supposed she was right. Dean had already offered Castiel his protection from the crew and never sought anything in return. It did no one any harm to use Dean’s name; if anything, it  _ prevented _ harm from coming to those who tried to touch Castiel without his permission. The thought nagged at him, though, and he resolved to bring it up once Dean returned. 

There was no way to know  _ when _ Dean would return, though. Some raids took longer than others, depending on how far they sailed and how many villages they could find along the way. Castiel had been told varying lengths of a few days to a whole month, so he stopped bothering to count the days and merely concentrated on keeping himself busy. 

When the door burst open one afternoon, Castiel was momentarily shocked and then delighted to see Dean. The Viking was loaded down with loot and Castiel helped him take care of it. As soon as his arms were free, Dean scooped Castiel in a big hug, spinning him around twice before setting him back down. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Dean said with a wink. Castiel did  _ not _ blush. “What smells so good?”

“Oh!” Glad for the distraction, Castiel went back to the fire and stirred the stew. “Andrea taught me how to cook some things while you were gone. She said this is one of your favorites.” 

He offered a spoonful to Dean. He’d expected Dean to take the spoon, but instead he kneeled and placed a hand around Castiel’s wrist to hold it steady. Then, eyes never leaving Castiel’s, he slurped up the stew. 

Castiel again did  _ not _ blush. 

“You learned this for me?” Dean asked around the food, chewing enthusiastically and eyeing the rest of the pot. “Thank you.”

“Yes.” To distract himself, he began pouring a bowl for Dean and then himself. “It was hard. I’m not much of a cook as it is and I’m unfamiliar with a lot of the ingredients here, but Andrea’s a patient teacher.”

“Andrea’s a good one,” Dean agreed, grabbing some bread and dipping it into the stew. Only once it was soaked through did he eat it. “Never understood how Benny got so damn lucky. Better viking wife than most and certainly better he deserves.” 

He was clearly joking—Castiel had learned quickly Dean’s affection towards all his crew, but he and Benny especially were close—but it reminded Castiel of the incident with Cole. 

“Viking wife,” he repeated. The phrase sounded odd on his tongue. 

“Yeah. When a Viking takes a man or woman as his own, they become his Viking wife. Doesn’t always go well, but Andrea and Benny are a great example of it.”

“Hmmm.” Castiel sipped on his own stew before working up the nerve to keep going. “One of the men in the village, he tried to… to take advantage of me.” Dean went red and looked like he wanted to go right back out the door and throttle the man. “But Andrea stopped him,” Castiel said in a rush and Dean looked somewhat mollified. “She said I was yours and he stopped. Dean…  _ am _ I yours? Am I your Viking wife?”

Dean had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Kinda? We don’t have ceremonies or the like as your people do. If you share a Viking’s bed, you’re his wife. As such, you get my protection.”

“Oh.” He considered that a moment. “So you lied that night on the ship?” There was no anger or accusation behind the words. Truth be told, underneath everything, all Castiel could feel was a thrill at being universally known as  _ Dean’s _ .

“Well, not technically…” Dean hedged. When he saw Castiel’s disapproving look, he smiled apologetically. “I really wasn’t trying to deceive you. You hadn’t shared my bed yet, but… they probably would’ve been too scared of me to try anything, anyway. But they might’ve thought you were available, so who knows?”

“But we don’t… you and I aren’t… I’m not—”

“We have shared a bed,” Dean said gently. “Anything more than that, it’s none of their business anyway.”

“But they  _ assume _ that we…” Castiel trailed off.

Dean shrugged. “If that upsets you, I can tell people the truth. They should still leave you alone, seeing as you live with me.”

Castiel opened his mouth to ask for just that, but then he snapped it shut. It  _ should _ bother him that everyone assumed he and Dean were having sex, but it truly didn’t. He knew all too well what the villagers at Helheim would say about it, an unmarried man sleeping in another’s bed. No amount of assurances would convince them that Castiel wasn’t debauched, wasn’t  _ ruined _ by such a liasson. 

Yet the people here didn’t care. Nay, they  _ encouraged _ it. 

He could feel the last of his hesitation to be with Dean start to disappear right then and there. This was a society that wouldn’t judge him for beginning a relationship with Dean, and it wasn’t as though he could deny his own attraction to the Viking. It was still too soon to act on it. He wanted,  _ needed _ to be sure about things before he gave in to Dean. His bad luck with Naomi made him wary of trusting a lover, no matter how much he might want to.

Of course, Dean didn’t make it easy to resist. 

It took a while for Castiel to even realize he was being courted, but Dean was slowly but surely trying to woo him. 

And it was working.

There were the gifts from Dean’s raids. The exotic foods and the jewelry and the fur cloak and winter boots, they all were hand picked just for Castiel. He even listened to Castiel’s complaints about the lack of color in their shared home and brought back knickknacks and paintings to help decorate. And then there was the cooking; even though Castiel was slowly but surely learning how to prepare the Viking dishes, Dean would delight in cooking for Castiel. Not even as a child could Castiel remember being so spoiled. 

Perhaps most notably was how much he and Dean got along. There were no stilted conversations, no awkward silences begging to be filled, and no end to how much Castiel enjoyed being in the Viking’s company. Dean was so nice and giving and… so  _ everything _ Naomi wasn’t. 

What finally sealed it for Castiel was when Dean and his crew were gone for over a fortnight. It was their longest separation yet, and Castiel couldn’t deny that he yearned for Dean’s return. Couldn’t deny that he woke up lonely and hard and wishing Dean was there to take advantage of his dwindling self-control… 

In the light of day, it was easier to ignore that impulse. He wouldn’t  _ throw _ himself at Dean. They’d talk first. That was the mature, responsible way to handle it. 

Normally while Dean was gone, Castiel spent time with Andrea and some of the other Viking wives. Together they cooked and worked in their gardens and took care of each other’s children. Lately, though, they’d taken to wanting to teach Castiel how to fight. It went without saying that everyone in the village knew how to use a blade and defend themselves, and once they realized Castiel did  _ not _ , they’d started with daily lessons. 

“I’m not a Viking,” Castiel objected as Andrea forced a dagger into his hand.

“But you’re a Viking wife. If the village is attacked while the Vikings are away, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

It’d taken a lot of work—and a lot of failures, which the small nicks and bruises all over his body attested to—but he felt reasonably confident that he’d improved. Castiel didn’t intend to go  _ looking _ for a fight, yet if one found him, at least he wouldn’t be totally unprepared for it. 

He’d just managed to disarm Andrea when the horn sounded from the harbor. Dean’s ship was just visible at the docks and there was an undercurrent of excitement as the village gathered to welcome their Vikings home. Castiel stood at the periphery, watching couples reunite and children jump into their parents’ arms. 

Dean was one of the last to exit the ship, as he felt was his responsibility as leader of the raid. He carried a large bouquet of flowers in stunning colors, and Castiel’s heart pitter-pattered in anticipation for his gift. 

And then the moment came when Castiel knew he’d fallen for the Viking. 

As Dean went through the crowd, he stopped by each child he saw and gave them one of the flowers. The children giggled in delight and asked for help braiding them into their hair or pinning them to their tunics. The laughter and joy Dean brought those children… It was too much for Castiel to adequately put into words.

When Dean finally got to Castiel, he stepped forward to wrap him in a hug. A moment of inspiration struck him, and Castiel nimbly dodged out of the way. Without a second’s thought, he twisted around to bind Dean’s arms behind his back, kicked Dean’s legs out from under him, then pinned him to the ground. The crowd around them hooted and hollered as Dean squawked in surprise and tried to get up. Castiel allowed him to roll onto his back, but kept his position straddling his torso and keeping his arms secured. He smiled down at Dean, flexing his fingers. 

There was a brief moment where he thought he might steal a kiss, but his momentary burst of nerves left him. He resisted the urge and climbed off Dean, offering a hand to help him to his feet. There was a flash of disappointment in Dean’s eyes, but he hid it well.

“What was that all about?” Dean asked as he wiped mud from his pants. “Not quite the welcome I was expecting.”

“The other Viking wives have been teaching me how to fight. I thought you’d like to see how my lessons are going.”

Dean let out a long whistle. “Color me impressed. Not many your size who can take me down so easily.”

“He ain’t that small,” Benny interrupted as he stepped forward, arm around Andrea’s shoulder. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t let him pin you anytime, anywhere.”

Some of the nearby villagers hummed in agreement and Dean turned an appealing shade of pink. 

“You should find out what other moves Andrea’s taught him,” Jo said as she walked by. “See if loverboy was worth all the trouble you put into gettin’ him.”

“You all are against me! My own  _ crew _ !”

The jeers followed them back to the meeting hall where a feast was hurriedly being cooked. Castiel and the other Viking wives did their part to celebrate their husbands’ homecoming. The whole time, he could feel Dean’s eyes on him. Goosebumps peppered his flesh as he imagined Dean undressing him with his eyes, thought about pinning Dean to their shared bed—

“Ah! Fuck!” he hissed. He yanked his hand away from the fire, but the damage was already done. He’d spilled some broth on his hand and it was already starting to look angry and red. 

“I’ve never heard you curse,” Andrea teased as she took him aside to treat the wound. “You need to stop thinking about Dean and keep your mind on what you’re doing, or you’ll have more burns before dinner’s even served.”

“Who says I’m thinking about Dean?”

Andrea raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t? Because if I’m not mistaken, you were publicly straddling him not a half hour ago—”

“Shhh!” he hissed, looking around. No one was paying them any mind, but it didn’t stop Castiel’s nerves from flaring. 

“You’re allowed to like Dean,” Andrea said, cutting right to the thick of things. “I know it’s confusing, since he kidnapped you. It was hard for all of us. But we’ve all found a better life here. Maybe not one we were expecting, but one that’s worth having and protecting. If you like Dean… don’t feel like you have to deny yourself that chance at happiness.”

“I’m not,” Castiel protested. It sounded weak even to him. “I’m just being cautious.”

“Worried Dean’ll break your heart?” She looked past Castiel, presumably finding Dean in the crowd. “Can’t say it’s not a possibility. A Viking can be a good man, but he can be a fickle one, too. Dean never struck me that way, but who can really be sure. Never seen him spend so much effort trying to woo someone. Or any effort, really. Men and women fall easily into Dean’s bed and just as easily fall out of it once he’s done with them. You, though… He’s invested in you.”

Castiel blushed. There was no denying he was pleased to hear Andrea’s encouragement. The real question became: what was he waiting for?

When the meal was finally served, the Viking wives joined their husbands. It wasn’t uncommon for them to sit on their husband’s lap, keeping the food and ale coming. Castiel had never felt brave enough to try such a thing himself, but it seemed like another small step toward what he was more and more convinced he actually wanted.

Emboldened by Andrea’s words and the certainty of his own heart, Castiel strode over to Dean with a small tray and sat right on Dean’s lap. Dean looked like he’d swallowed his tongue as he looked up at Castiel with comically wide eyes.

“Cas?” he asked, voice raspy. “You sure?”

Castiel answered by settling in, leaning against Dean’s weight for balance and using his free hand to break off a piece of bread, dip it in honey, and hold it out for Dean. Dean moaned as he accepted it, licking honey off of Castiel’s fingers before drawing back. He snaked a hand around Castiel’s waist, squeezing gently and opening his mouth in a silent request for another bite. They stayed like that the whole meal; Castiel on Dean’s lap, hand-feeding both of them and enjoying every moment of it.

It was easy to tell that Dean loved having Castiel so close, enjoyed the sensual way they ate while completely forgetting those around them. Castiel was surprised to find he liked it, too. 

Maybe he should stop being so surprised by the way Dean pleased him. Maybe this was a sign that he should just give in and  _ take _ what Dean so freely offered him. 

Although the temptation is there, Castiel wasn’t sure this was the night. They’d waited this long. Surely another night wouldn’t hurt.

He helped Dean put his new loot away, smiled and kissed Dean’s cheek to thank him for the new gift (a gilded jewelry box with roses carved along the top). It was their first kiss and Castiel would’ve been blind to miss the fire behind Dean’s eyes in that moment. Yet again, he let Castiel set the pace and didn’t push for more. When they crawled into bed that night, there was a smaller gap between them than usual but still plenty of room.

All night, Castiel dreamt about closing that gap. Vague, blurry images danced before his eyes as he draped himself over Dean, felt Dean push up against him, both of them striving towards something— 

“Oh!” Castiel gasped as his eyes flew open. There were warm arms wrapped around him and a very prominent erection pressed against his ass. He kept still, wondering if Dean was awake, but his breathing was deep and even, a slight snore on each inhale, and his arm was dead weight on Castiel. Wanting to spare Dean the embarrassment of waking up in such a compromising position, he tried to move away and put some more space between them. As soon as he moved, though, Dean snuggled closer. 

“Cas,” he sighed as he nuzzled into the back of Castiel’s neck. Castiel lay there frozen, but Dean didn’t say anything else. 

“Dean?” Castiel whispered. 

No answer.

“Dean, are you awake?” 

No answer. 

Experimentally, he wiggled in Dean’s hold. He got no reaction until his ass moved against Dean’s cock; that earned him an actual  _ whimper _ from the Viking. Castiel shivered and bit his lip to keep from answering with a moan of his own. Instead, he shifted his hips again, rocking against Dean’s crotch. One, twice, three times. Each time, he heard a slight stutter in Dean’s otherwise rhythmic breathing or a soft gasp. The noises Dean made were irresistible, spurring Castiel on. 

It felt  _ good _ to be so close to Dean, and it had his own cock hard and straining against the cotton britches he wore to bed. And it felt even  _ better _ to have Dean be so responsive. To hear every noise and know  _ he’d _ caused that. He’d never felt so desirable, so  _ powerful _ in all his life as he rolled his hips back again and again. Ignoring his own arousal, he strained to bring Dean to the edge. If Castiel could bring Dean to orgasm while he was still asleep…

“Ahh!” Dean cried, his fingers digging into Castiel’s hips to hold him in place. Castiel could feel Dean’s cock twitching against him, a damp spot forming at the small of his back. “Cas? Did I… Did  _ you _ … What…?”

Before Castiel could explain or own up to what had happened, Dean was kissing the back of Castiel’s neck while pushing their pants out of the way. Then he hitched one of Cas’ legs over his own. When Castiel felt a wet finger probing at his entrance, he practically screamed.

“You ever been with a man before?” Dean whispered in his ear. His voice was sleep rough, a slight lilt to it as though he wasn’t quite awake yet. “You ever touched yourself like this?”

“No!” He moaned as Dean’s finger breached him. It felt  _ incredible _ . “How are you doing that—?”

“Normally use oil.” Dean pumped his finger in and out as his other hand moved around to grasp Castiel’s erection. “Hope you don’t mind me using my come to ease the way.”

Castiel’s cock jerked in Dean’s hand. He tried to speak, but words escaped him. All there was in the whole world was Dean; Dean’s hand on his cock, Dean’s finger inside him, Dean’s breath on his face, Dean’s body pressed in tight behind him, Dean Dean  _ Dean _ .

“Gonna make you feel so good… wanna take care of you, Cas. Wanna make this good for you…”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “Yes yes please, Dean,  _ please— _ ”

Dean pressed his finger in deeper, bending it and hitting something inside Castiel that had his vision blacking out. He whined through his orgasm, babbling nonsense as Dean milked him through it. Even after it was over, Dean gently cleaned him up and wrapped around him protectively. 

“You’re mine now,” Dean mumbled around a yawn. “My Castiel.”

Even if he’d wanted to, Castiel couldn’t argue with that.


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean had first thought up his plan of revenge, he’d thought it’d be difficult. Not that he doubted his own powers of seduction, but planning to bed someone sight unseen was a whole different matter than deciding after you’d met them.

Then he’d laid eyes on Castiel; the boy, surely a decade younger than him, was gorgeous. His eyes alone enchanted Dean, but his cheekbones, his hair, his sinful thighs… all of it enticed him.

Yet still he worried. Lucifer was an odious man, and surely any relative of his (especially one he had raised) would be just as insufferable. If he were honest, Dean was _looking_ to dislike Castiel. He smiled and said all the right things to appear otherwise, but deep down he waited for every annoying quirk to have his blood boiling. It’d taken him a while to realize Cas _had_ no annoying quirks. Cas was nothing but kind and sweet and _adorable—_

And Dean really needed to get his emotions in check.

Cas being pleasant company was a good sign. The last thing he needed was to be unable to fuck the boy because he was too overcome with disgust. Not that hate sex wasn’t enjoyable, but it didn’t lend itself towards making someone fall in love with you. He needed Cas to be utterly devoted to him, so thoroughly seduced that their inevitable separation would _devastate_ him. Cas needed to be ruined as completely as Sam had been, or it wasn’t good enough.

Although Cas was hesitant, Dean knew he’d succeed. With such a sweet young man like Cas, it wasn’t hard to play the role of attentive lover. He cooked for him, helped him decorate the house to his liking, showered him with attention and gifts. The poor boy was so attention starved, likely having gone through years of being ignored, that he ate it right up. It it were anyone else, Dean might feel sorry for him.

No matter; he could assuage any guilt he felt by being good to Cas now. Even if his village shunned him, at least he’d have a few pleasant months with Dean to comfort him.

At least that’s what Dean thought.

For every attempt Dean made to bed Cas, Cas did something equally endearing. Learning to cook Dean’s favorite foods. Cleaning out the garden and growing flowers and vegetables he thought would please Dean. Learning how to _fight_ , for fuck’s sake. How was Dean supposed to resist a man who could pin him?

About as easily as he was supposed to resist a man who made him come in his sleep. Damn if that wasn’t hot.

The next morning, Cas was obviously embarrassed. Pleased, but embarrassed that he was pleased. Dean had kissed him, their first _real_ kiss, and assured him that he’d enjoyed it and that he’d love to do it again.

That had ended with Dean’s cock between Cas’ thighs, fucking into the soft heat while Cas braced himself against a wall. Then after he’d come, Dean had promptly spun Cas around while dropping to his knees, enthusiastically returning the favor.

It was like the dam had broken. Dean had suspected Castiel’s interest in him before, but he’d held back. Now that they’ve started, Cas was completely insatiable.

After breakfast, Cas had dragged Dean back to bed. He pushed Dean onto the blankets, pulling his pants off and pushing his legs apart. Dean spread them willingly, licking his lips as Cas climbed towards him and settled between his legs.

“I want to learn how to pleasure you,” he said as he kissed his way up Dean’s legs. “With my mouth… With my tongue…” He licked a stripe up Dean’s shaft. “With my hand…” He traced along Dean’s balls with his nails before lazily stroking him and looking up at Dean with hooded eyes.

It was the sexiest thing Dean had ever seen.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s teach you how to do that.”

For all his inexperience, Cas turned out to be amazing at giving head. He kissed every inch of Dean’s thighs, muttering how beautiful his bowlegs are and how he’d wanted to get between them for months now. He traced the tattoos running along Dean’s legs and abs with his tongue, kissing them and even nipping at them once or twice. By the time Cas actually got to Dean’s cock, Dean knew he wouldn’t last long.

He didn’t.

It was sloppy and a little clumsy, but it was _Cas_ and the wonderful warmth of his mouth.

They didn’t leave the house (barely even left the _bed_ ) for the next few days as they mapped out each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths. They didn’t fuck, not yet, but they did everything short of it. Cas was such a wonderfully giving lover that Dean was satisfied with rutting against him or enjoying his mouth and his hand instead.

One of his new favorite things was tasting his come on Cas’ lips when they kissed.

Dean woke up on the third morning with Cas draped around him. Bobby was laying across their feet, legs twitching in his sleep as he likely dreamed of chasing a hare. It was so warm and cozy, so comfortable and domestic that Dean didn’t want to wake up and start the day.

Wait… domestic?

The thought made him shudder. As carefully but as quickly as he could, he extricated himself from Cas’ hold and got out of bed. He grabbed the first clothes he could find and pulled them on, practically fleeing the house once he was half-dressed. He had no destination in mind, no goal other than to put as much distance between himself and Cas as possible. His feet carried him to the meeting hall and he stormed inside.

A girl tending the fire took one look at him and ran to get him an ale skin. Dean nodded in thanks before drinking generously.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to bed Cas, defile and _ruin_ him, and then get rid of him. He’d done the defiling part, but now that he was on the precipice of completely his revenge, Dean hesitated. Like it or not, he cared about Cas. He wasn’t supposed to, but it’d happened anyway.

How are you supposed to abandon someone you care about?

_You’re being ridiculous. So what if you like him? It doesn’t mean you can’t follow through. Take some time to distance yourself from him, maybe fuck him once or twice, and **then** kick him out. You can still do this._

Of course he could.

Decision made, he went through the village gathering his crew. He’d never given his men so little time to rest between raids, but he _needed_ to get out of there. The open sea and his ship were exactly what he needed to clear his head, to refocus and remind himself of what was _really_ important. The only reason Dean _thought_ he had feelings for Cas was because they’d been cooped up together. After a few days apart, Dean would get over it.

The Vikings weren’t happy to see Dean dragging them back out to pillage, but they came along. Something about the manic look in his eyes must have clued them in not to try Dean’s patience right now. They said quick farewells to their Viking wives and children, then headed for the ship.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Cas whined, practically dead weight against him as he hugged Dean. “When will you be back?”

Dean’s fingers carded through Castiel’s hair and he kissed the top of his head. It was just part of the act, though. Nothing more.

“We’ll be back soon, I promise. No more than a week.”

_A week’s more than enough time to forget how good you smell and how beautiful you look in the mornings._

Cas pulled away and offered a wane smile. “Stay safe.” Then he went up on his tiptoes to steal a kiss.

When Cas ended the kiss, Dean almost went in for another. He barely restrained himself; his fingers itched to grab Cas, his hands balled into fists in an effort to reel himself in, and his eyes lingered far too long on Castiel’s lips. What was wrong with him?

Without another word, Dean turned and headed for the shore.

\----

The men and women kneeling before then handed over their jewelry, purses, and weapons. Garth walked down the line, collecting them in a bag. As usual, he cheerfully thanked each of them and apologized for the inconvenience. The first time he'd done it, Dean has seriously questioned why he even brought Garth along. Then he'd seen Garth take out a man twice his size with nothing but a fork. Needless to say, he'd earned a permanent place on Dean's ship after that.

Dean followed behind Garth, sizing people up to see if they were planning anything stupid. One young man looked like he might; Dean stopped in front of him, staring down at him.

“Don’t do anything stupid unless you want your throat slit,” Dean waned as he put a hand on his dagger. They might call him Ruthless, but that kind of violence was usually reserved for Lucifer’s men. He didn’t kill random villagers just for kicks, not if he could help it, but he would if this kid tried to make himself a hero.

He winced at Dean’s tone and looked down, nodding.

“Good boy.” And to add insult to injury, he mussed his hair before roughly pushing him to the ground.

Garth was finishing up with the last couple villagers and Dean stepped over to help. One of the last women was about to drop her necklace into the bag when it caught the light. Dean rushed over and snatched it from her hand, turning the beautiful blue jewel around in his hands. It reflected the sunlight and sparkled brilliantly, every shade of blue imaginable visible if the angle was just right.

“I’m keeping this,” Dean said as he pocketed it.

“Sure thing. Another present for your beau?” Garth asked knowingly.

Dean froze. Of course it was for Cas—Dean didn’t care about jewels, he preferred gold and weapons as his share of the loot—but it rattled him to realize it. He hadn’t even thought twice, he’d taken it. Every other gift had been chosen after careful deliberation to make sure it would appeal to him. This was an impulse, so automatic that it worried him.

He wasn’t even supposed to be _thinking_ about Cas right now. Fuck.

It didn’t get better after that. Drinking provided a decent distraction until they were ambushed at the next port. It actually didn’t bother him, a fight was a fight and if he was fighting for his life, he couldn’t think about Cas… at least not too much. If in the heat of the moment he got a small thrill from the thought of showing off his skill with a blade to Cas, he couldn’t help that.

Between himself, Bobby, Jo, Garth, and Bobby, they made easy work of the mercenaries. Bobby managed to keep one of them alive for interrogation, and Dean was marginally disappointed when he confessed to everything without Dean even needing to threaten torture.

“We’re looking for Goddson’s boy from Helheim. Lucifer thinks you took him. He’s offered a substantial amount of gold for anyone who can find the boy.”

Dean smiled. Good. He’d been right that Lucifer would want his nephew back. They’d already dealt with men sent by Lucifer before—the man was enraged by what Dean had done to his ships and wanted to even the score—and Dean was pleased to see he was expending as much effort to get to Cas. If he wanted Castiel, that meant he’d picked his means of revenge perfectly.

“You want Cas, huh?”

“Who?”

Dean’s smile wavered. “Cas. Lucifer’s nephew. The one you’re looking for.”

The man shrugged. “Weren’t given a name. Know the boy’s eighteen, not quite six feet, blue eyes and dark hair.”

Lucifer cared so little for his nephew that he hadn’t even told these men his name. What _else_ had he told them?

“And what exactly were you supposed to do with Cas when you found him?”

“A hundred gold coins to the man who killed you and twenty for each member of your crew we killed. Fifty coins to the man who brought back his nephew alive. If you couldn’t get the boy to come willingly, he offered forty if you brought proof of the boy’s death.”

Red flashed before Dean’s eyes. He’d been absolutely right that Lucifer would care about Dean taking his nephew and the insult to his family name, but it’d never occurred to him that the man was so heartless he’d actively try to kill Cas to prevent any more slander to his name. The fact that he’d offered almost the same price for Cas’ death as for his safe return spoke _volumes_ about his priorities.

Something protective flared up inside Dean. He grabbed the hatchet out of Bobby’s hand. Bobby barely got out of the way before Dean was hacking away. He didn’t hear the screams or notice the blood splattering across his armor. He kept at it well after the man was lying dead at his feet, kept going until his arm was tired and still he didn’t feel any better.

Wiping blood from his face, Dean threw the hatchet on the ground.

Many men had heard of Dean the Ruthless, but few if anyone had heard of Lawrendalr. It was too small to attract trade, nor was it necessary since the Vikings brought in goods

Certainly no one would be able to connect Dean with Lawrendalr. If Lucifer knew Dean was there, he wouldn’t waste time sending mercenaries to random ports and hoping to get lucky. Lawrendalr was safe. _Castiel_ was safe—

“We’re going home,” he snarled as he stormed back to the ship.

He had to be sure. He'd have no peace of mind until he saw Castiel was okay with his own eyes.

“We’ve only been gone a couple days,” Benny pointed out as he struggled to keep up with Dean’s long stride. “Haven’t gotten enough loot to make the trip worthwhile—”

Dean rounded on him. “Did I fucking _stutter_? We’re leaving. _Now._ ”

To his credit, Benny didn't so much as flinch. “Look, I know you're worried about your boy—”

“I am NOT worried about him. I just want to fucking go home and… and…” When Dean couldn't think of a suitable lie, he stormed off. He didn’t give a shit if Benny believed him or not, so long as he did as he was told and gathered the crew to set sail.

They made record time getting back. Dean pushed the crew and did double shifts rowing himself. The only times he slept was when his arms and back were exhausted and Benny had to half-carry him to his quarters. For a few hours he’d get an almost restful sleep before his dreams would shift to nightmares of being too late to stop some other group of mercenary bastards from trying to take him back to his uncle.

Dean knew he was being paranoid as he watched to make sure they weren’t followed, as he spent every waking moment worrying about Cas, but he couldn’t help the worry from taking over all rational thought. Luckily it didn’t leave much room to worry about other things, like his obvious over attachment to the boy.

One problem at a time.

At daybreak, Dean caught sight of familiar coastlines and was damn relieved. The weather was clear, letting them see for miles over the ocean. As they drew closer to Lawrendalr, Dean kept post at the prow. He wrapped around the impala’s head and absentmindedly stroked his fingers between her horns. She’d never failed to bring him luck before, and he hoped she wouldn’t now.

_I don’t **need** luck. I’m overreacting. Cas is fine._

_Cas is fine._

_Cas **better** be fine, or I’ll rip apart the men who touched him and burn everything they love to the ground._

Half the village was there to greet them on the beach as usual, the Viking wives and their children eagerly seeking the return of their families. A few others were there, hoping to offer their assistance to the Vikings in exchange for some of the loot they carried back for them. Dean ignored them all. He scanned the crowd for a pair of blue eyes under a mop of messy brown hair.

Cas wasn’t there.

 _There are a million reasons he might not be here,_ he reasoned with himself as he worked his way through the crowd. _He’s cooking. He’s working in the garden. He’s practicing his knife fighting. Don’t freak out._

He freaked out.

As soon as he got past the throng of people, he ran home. The few people he encountered jumped out of the way as he sprinted past, his entire mind focused on getting home and checking on Cas.

The gate wasn’t broken. That was a good sign, right?

… Unless Cas went back willingly.

But no, Bobby was wandering around the garden chasing butterflies. The dog would be more upset if something had happened to Castiel.

_Unless Cas went back willingly!_

Panic gripped him as he pushed open the door, heedless of his muddy boots. He needed to see Cas _now_ or—

“Hello Dean.”

Oh.

Castiel was sprawled across the bed, completely naked and languidly stroking himself.

“Saw your ship… thought I’d get myself ready for you… _Oh!_ ” He arched into his own touch. “Please,” Cas begged as his handed started to work faster over his cock. “Please, Dean. Need you.”

The worry that’d be sitting heavily in his stomach for the past few days melted away and was instantly replaced by an intense arousal.

Before he could even register what was happening, Dean was tearing off his clothes and then draping himself over Cas’ body.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” Dean whispered into his ear as he replaced Cas’ hand with his own. Cas was leaking so much, his precome easing the way. “Can I fuck you?”

“Please.”

Dean didn’t want to leave the bed, but he forced himself to get up and find the pouch of oil he kept nearby. It’d been awhile since he’d needed it and thankfully there was more than enough left to suit his purposes.

When he turned back to the bed, Cas looked utterly debauched. He lay across the bearskin, legs spread out in invitation and cheeks beautifully flushed. His cock twitched when he noticed Dean staring at him.

Utterly gorgeous.

Dean ravished him with kisses while slowly, teasingly opening him up. They’d only done this that first time, and as much as Dean craved being closer to Castiel, he wouldn’t risk hurting him. Not after spending days on end worrying if he was alright; he’d be gentle, he’d be patient, and it’d be worth it.

Every time their lips met, Dean was tender. He’d press his tongue against Castiel’s lips and press inside before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Or he’d nibble on Cas’ bottom lip to distract him as he pushed another finger in. Everywhere else, though, Dean was rough. He’d bite and suck and mark and claim, his mouth wanting to taste and touch every part of Cas he could reach.

He was so consumed with his own want that he almost missed Castiel’s whining.

“Please, Dean. I-I need— I need—” He hissed in frustration as Dean’s fingers stopped thrusting in and out, three of them now pushed deep inside and brushing against his prostate.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me and it’s yours.” Perhaps it was cruel to ask, but he had to hear Castiel say the words. Had to know Cas wanted this as much as he did. It made no sense why he cared—these feelings would only serve to complicate things later, so why bother?—but he very much did.

“I want your— _your cock_ inside me. Please, I’ve imagined it for so long and I-I just—”

“Shhh.” Dean rewarded him with a kiss on the nose. He withdrew his fingers and shifted Cas’ hips to make the angle easier. “If that’s what you want.” Bracing his weight on one hand, he used the other to line up with Cas’ rim. He didn’t push in, just pressed enough for Cas to feel the pressure.

“I want it. Want you.”

Dean licked his lips and nodded, too overcome for words. In complete rapture, he watched Cas’ face as he eased his cock in.

“Oh!” Cas gasped. “You’re so _big_.”

“You’re so perfect.” It was the sappiest shit he’s ever said in his whole fucking life, but Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed. Because right now, it was absolutely true. Later he could try to take it back. Later he could try to figure out what it meant that he’d _thought_ it, never mind said it.

Right now it was just the two of them. Dean didn’t need to justify himself to anyone, explain how this all fit into his plan. He could enjoy it. He’d been so tightly wound since killing that merc that it was utter _bliss_ to finally, _finally_ be inside Castiel.

Cas was warm and tight, so tight despite Dean’s hard work to stretch him, and he carefully looked for any signs of discomfort or pain as he bottomed out. He wiped away the almost tears collecting at the corners of Cas’ eyes and peppered kisses along the frown lines that were trying to form. Only when Castiel had relaxed did he start shallow thrusts in and out, working up to more as Cas started moaning more and more enthusiastically.

Dean was well on his way to losing himself in those big blue eyes when suddenly Cas pushed Dean away. Not enough for him to topple over, but enough that he almost slipped out. Before he could ask what the hell Cas was doing, the younger man had slipped his legs around Dean’s neck and was pulling him back in.

“Fuck,” Dean whined as his hips fell flush against Cas’ ass. “You’re flexible.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “Now move.”

Fuck did he like it when Cas told him what to do, yet at the same time it sparked something possessive in him. Cas was _his_. Cas was giving himself over to Dean, _begging_ Dean to take him.

Dean was only too happy to oblige.

The first few thrusts in their new position were _amazing_. Dean was caught up in watching his cock disappear inside Cas’ tight hole, tracing the puckered muscle with his finger and occasionally pushing his finger in alongside his cock. Then he gave up on teasing them both and focused on what they both really wanted.

His hands moved to support Cas’ hips as Dean went up on his knees and started fucking in as hard as he could. His grip was bruising as purposely brought Cas closer and closer to that edge of pleasure-pain. He wanted everyone to know Cas was his, wanted people to see how Cas walked after this, wanted Cas to feel it for days and come back for more.

 _He_ wanted Cas, plain and simple.

The realization ripped his orgasm through him. His hips stuttered as he buried himself as deep as he could. While floating on wave after wave of ecstasy, he fumbled for Castiel’s dick. His hand was clumsy and Cas wove their fingers together to help guide his movements. Within seconds, Cas was arching his back off the bed and coming between them.

With trembling hands, Dean cleaned them up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to want this.

But when Castiel yawned and sleepily opened his arms for Dean to join him, Dean went willingly. Without being prompted, he wrapped himself around Castiel and buried his face in Cas’ hair. He fell asleep breathing in Cas’ musky scent and idly stroking Cas’ thigh.

\----

Dean never saw himself as a weak man or a coward, but for the next few weeks, he indulged in a fantasy. He slipped further into the illusion he’d created to seduce Castiel: the lovesick Viking who doted upon his lover at every opportunity.

It was admittedly an enjoyable role to play.

Especially when he fucked Castiel nearly every night, and on a few notable occasions when he eagerly rode Castiel’s dick until they were both sweaty and sated. He’d done that so rarely with his previous lovers, but Dean found he wanted Cas in every way possible (and if he liked seeing Cas come undone like that, what did it matter?). And with Cas tucked under his chin each night, it became harder for Dean to remember why he shouldn’t let himself have this forever.

He hated being away from Castiel when he went on raids. The only way he could get any peace of mind was to have Jo or Benny stay behind and keep an eye on things for him. Dean was increasingly confident that Lawrendalr was safe, but Cas’ life wasn’t something he was willing to bet on it. Each voyage was accompanied by endless worrying.

The only distraction was the gifts he collected along the way: more jewels and precious stones and his favorite fruit from Cas’ own village that just won’t grow in Lawrendalr no matter how carefully Cas tended the soil. Dean looked forward to his return home not merely to see Cas again, but to see his face light up in delight when he saw his new gifts.

“You’re spoiling me,” Cas whispered against Dean’s lips. He tasted like the fruit he’d just bitten into.

“I hope so.”

All in all, life was pretty awesome with Cas there. Dean didn’t wake up alone anymore, nor did he lack for company during the day; Cas wasn’t just a good lay, he was clever and infinitely more engaging than Dean’s previous lovers. Often Dean would lose himself in the game he was playing, in the lie he’d been telling so long it felt real.

It was especially easy to forget when he and Cas were in bed. Only then, after they’d both come and were half asleep, was Dean completely undone.

“I love you,” he whispered, like it was the most precious secret in the world. In those moments, Dean didn't need to justify himself or make excuses; and in the light of day, he could always convince himself he’d dreamt saying it and Cas’ answering “I love you, too.”

As long as he could, he’d put off telling Cas that all of this was done out of revenge. None of it was real, it was all a sham to make his uncle pay for doing the very same to Sam all those years ago.

\----

“I missed you.” Dean nipped at Cas’ lips before stealing a kiss. “I have so many plans for what I’m going to do to you tonight—”

“I’m sure you do, but first,” Cas said as he wiggled out of Dean’s grasp, “I have to help the other Viking wives cook a feast to celebrate your return.”

Dean gave an exaggerated pout before giving in. “Fiiine. But you’re sitting in my lap and feeding me that dinner, okay?”

“Of course.”

Dean slapped Cas’ ass as he walked by, watching with appreciation as he headed to the meeting hall.

“Well aren’t you two cute,” Benny drawled. Dean immediately flushed but didn’t comment. “Actually, I think the word I’m looking for is _disgustingly_ cute.”

It always made his hackles rise to hear someone else talk about his thing with Cas. Benny, Jo, Bobby, all of them _knew_ what this was really about, and to hear them talk about him fawning over Cas riled him up. It made him feel guilty for not following through (or maybe for misleading Cas in the first place) and weak for being caught.

“It’s just an act, Benny,” he scoffed and tried to walk away.

Never one to leave well enough alone, Benny matched Dean’s pace. “Sure it is. You’re not at all smitten with the cute boy you’ve been playing house with.” Dean glared at him, but Benny kept right on talking. “Thought the plan was to bed him and lose him. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve long since done the bedding part…”

Dean stopped abruptly. “What are you saying?”

“That maybe you don’t _want_ to do the losing part. And that it’s _fine_ if you wanna keep him. He’s good for you. Don’t remember ever seeing you this happy.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the plan’s changed,” Dean snapped defensively. “Maybe I’ll just keep him as my willing sex slave instead.”

The look Benny gave him was so full of pity that it made Dean cringe.

“Sure, Dean. Keep telling yourself that. Keep pretending you don’t care about him. See what that gets you.” Benny placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed hard, then walked away.

Dean was so off balance by their whole conversation that he didn’t respond at first. It wasn’t until Benny had almost disappeared from sight that Dean yelled after him: “I don’t fucking _care_ about him! I’ll fucking _show you_ how little I care about him!”

He plotted all throughout dinner how to show his detachment to Castiel. Despite his bravado in front of Benny, he wasn’t sure he even needed to prove anything to the other man. So long as he could prove it to _himself_ that he could remain detached and disinterested, Dean would count it as a win.

In the end, he decided to keep it simple. Once they’d returned to their— _his_ home, he’d throw Castiel roughly onto the bed, force him on his hands and knees, and fuck him raw. He’d dominate Castiel so thoroughly, only letting him come if he could come untouched, and then leave him dripping come while Dean fell asleep on his own side of the bed.

It started out the way Dean wanted. He’d quickly opened Cas up and thrust in, hands roaming the plane of Castiel’s back before settling in his hair and yanking hard.

Then Castiel whimpered and Dean lost his concentration.

What was supposed to be rough, harsh sex turned into gentle lovemaking. Dean soothed Cas’ scalp with kisses and fucked him at Cas’ pace. Worst of all, he spent the whole time whispering endearments and apologies.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. I’ll be more careful next time. Just tell me what you want, tell me how to take care of you.”

“Just need you,” Cas sighed before arching backward into Dean’s embrace. “And maybe your hand—”

“Sure thing, darling.”

Cas came after a few strokes and collapsed onto the bed. Dean dutifully cleaned him up, ignoring his own erection and settling in behind him.

“Would you like me to—?”

“No.” Dean nosed along Cas’ shoulderblades. “I’m fine.”

The night had been a complete disaster, and Dean was growing more and more concerned about the hold this boy had over him.

\----

Dean tried to distance himself from Castiel after that, he really did, but he was caught in Cas’ orbit. A smile or wave was all it took for him to bow to Cas’ every whim. Luckily for Dean, Castiel hadn’t figured that out yet (or if he had, his whims were very easily met).

As it was, Dean needed to make a decision. He’d excused himself from going out to the marketplace with Cas and gone for a walk to clear his head and think. His feet carried him to the beach, as it often did when his mind was troubled. Staring out at the waves offered him no answers (if anything it reminded him of the vibrant blue of Castiel’s eyes), but he didn’t know what else to do at this point.

It’d never occurred to him _not_ to follow through with his original plan, yet now he found himself considering other options. When it came down to it, though, there were really only two possibilities: cast Castiel out on his own to face public scorn and his uncle’s wrath, or don’t. On the one hand, he’d get his revenge on Lucifer. It’d be poetic.

And on the other hand… he’d _still_ have his revenge on Lucifer, right? His family name was still sullied by his nephew running off with a Viking, whether he stayed with that Viking or was cast out. Maybe it’d be slightly more damning to have been rejected by a Viking, but that probably wouldn’t matter to Lucifer. _Any_ insult to his reputation was a grievous one.

He pictured both possibilities. Telling Cas the truth pained him more than he liked to admit. The mere _idea_ of hurting Cas was unbearable, never mind living with the consequences. But if he _kept_ Cas and continued to live out this relationship he’d stumbled into… His heart felt lighter and his whole being _craved_ that life.

And yet he was _terrified_ of it. Caring for Cas, nay, _loving_ Cas was a lot more complicated than revenge. Following the plan was simple. It was known. This thing with Castiel was the complete opposite. It was different, dangerous even, because he’d _never_ given his heart to anyone before. Pushing Castiel away might hurt Cas, but it’d keep Dean safe.

Circling back around the village one last time, Dean was no closer to a decision than he had been before. Seeing no point in this fruitless exercise, he headed back home.

When Dean entered the house, he saw Castiel sitting on the bench and staring into the fire. Bobby sat at his side, head in Cas’ lap as Cas pet him absentmindedly.

“Hey Cas,” Dean called brightly as he stepped forward to kiss him. “How was the marketplace?” As he leaned in to steal a kiss, he nearly yelped when Bobby nipped at him. What the hell had gotten into the mutt?

“Is it true?” Castiel asked.

Dean turned his attention from the dog to Cas. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, he could see Cas was upset. More than upset. There was a storm brewing behind those blue eyes. Dean had never seen Castiel’s temper before, and he wondered if this was a mere preview. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad—the boy could barely grow a beard, how intimidating could he be?—but there was something in his expression that made Dean want to take a step back.

“Is what true?”

Cas turned back to the fire and pushed a few coals around, ashes flying as the poker scattered the embers. “I overheard Jo and Meg talking in the marketplace.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Oh?”

“They were taking bets. Wondering how long it would be before… before you…”

Oh no. No no no no no—

Steeling himself while Dean watched helplessly, Cas continued: “Before you kicked me out. Before you decided to keep going with your plan to use me as a means to get back at my uncle.” His voice rose and he threw the iron poker into the fire as he stood up. “So, Dean, is it true? Am I just a means to an end? Has it all been a lie?”

This was the time to come clean. To confess and beg for forgiveness. To hope that Castiel, his wonderful, beautiful, loving Cas, would understand and give him another chance. That he’d see that Dean cared beyond his petty need for revenge.

Unfortunately, none of those words were the ones that came out.

“Yes,” Dean croaked. “It was all too easy to seduce you into my bed. You _wanted_ to be ruined. You were practically _begging_ for it when I met you. I could’ve only _dreamed_ you’d be so responsive to my—”

In one fluid motion, Castiel stood up and slapped Dean across the face. Bobby barked and whined in confusion, trying to push himself between the two of them. Dean grabbed the dog, held him tight and begged for this nightmare to end.

“How could I have been so wrong about you?” There were tears in Cas’ eyes, tears that Dean could reach forward and wipe away—

No. No, he’d lost the right to do that. He’d made his choice, no matter how much it might pain him, and now Dean had to stay strong and follow through. This was the whole point, right? Everything from the moment they’d met, it’d all been leading up to this moment.

“What am I supposed to do?” Cas asked. “I can’t… I can’t go _back_ …”

“Well…” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out. But you can’t stay here.”

Rage flickered behind Cas’ eyes before he subdued it into something more neutral. “Nor would I _want_ to. I’ve lived my whole life in places I wasn’t truly wanted, I’m not exactly _eager_ to continue that trend now.” Cas tore off the necklace he was wearing, the ring and the woven bracelets, and threw them into the fire. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope it was worth it.”

Before Dean could even consider stopping him, Castiel stormed out of the house.

What had he done?

\----

“Dean?”

Dean jolted awake but once he was able to place the voice, he slumped back against the bench and started looking for his flask. The damn thing was empty, so he threw it aside.

“What d’you want, Benny?” he slurred. He was too tired to deal with whatever the fuck Benny wanted. Letting his head fall back against the bench, he tried to fall back asleep.

Benny kicked his leg. Hard.

“The fuck—?” Hands roughly grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. “Asshole!”

“You need to quit moping. Your dog’s so damn sick of you he’s been following Andrea around. It’s not my job to feed the mutt for you, brother.”

“I ain’t moping!”

“Really?” Benny gestured wildly around the house. Broken shields and splintered spears that hadn’t survived Dean’s rage, empty and discarded wine skins, and all other manner of forgotten or abandoned clothes and food. Even at his worst, Dean had never been such a slob. “‘Cuz from here, it don’t look like you’re doing too good.”

“What of it?” Dean snapped as he pushed away from Benny’s hold on him. It was probably a bad idea, as the world spun and Dean stumbled before regaining his balance. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.”

“I _will_! I just need to… to… to find a whore to fuck and then I’ll be over it.”

“You want me to get you one?” Benny asked him seriously.

Bluff or not, Dean couldn’t help but flinch. Night after night, he’d woken up reaching for Castiel only to find the other side of the bed empty. The thought of _replacing_ his warmth for someone else’s… it sickened him.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I don’t want that.”

Benny took a seat on the bench and motioned for Dean to do the same. Petulantly, he did.

“You can’t keep doin’ this,” Benny said sternly. “It’s been a week and no one’s seen hide nor hair of you. The others are getting restless, want to sail out and look for some trouble.”

“Then take ‘em. Go without me this one time.”

Not once in all the years Dean had been a Viking had he let his crew go without him. They were _his_ men and women, _his_ responsibility, and he’d be damned if he was going to not be there when they needed him.

Except now he truly could not muster up the energy to go.

“Dean… I know you’re upset about Cas—”

“You don’t know _anything_ about it!” His voice was rough from disuse and didn’t get quite as loud as he wanted, but he still managed to convey his anger that they were talking about this. It was too soon, he needed more time to recover.

~~There’d never be enough time to get over losing Cas.~~

“I know you’re upset about Cas,” Benny repeated. Dean’s outburst felt even more childish as Benny ignored it altogether. “And I know you’re stubborn and proud and don’t want to admit that you fucked up, but I’m here to tell you that you _definitely_ fucked up.”

“Ugh!” Dean buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to hear this. As if he didn’t already _know_ he’d messed up the best thing that’d ever happened to him.

A steady hand rested on the back of his neck and squeezed. “You should go after him. The crew’s ready to go at a moment’s notice. Say the world and we’ll get him back.”

“No.”

Benny sighed. His hand drifted down to pat Dean’s back a few times before it disappeared. Dean peeked between his fingers to watch Benny head out to the door. He paused in the doorway, picking at a loose splinter.

“I was worried you wouldn’t listen to me,” Benny said. “So I brought backup.”

Without bothering to explain, Benny stepped outside. Dean frowned at the bright light—shit, when did it become midday?—until a silhouette appeared in the doorway. He’d expected Andrea to come and yell at him, or maybe Jo, but the person blocking the light was easily twice as big as either of them.

“Hey Dean.”

“Sam?”

He flew to his feet and nearly tackled his brother in a hug. It’d been months, maybe even a year, since he’d seen his little brother, and Dean’s heart delighted in seeing him now. “Fuck is it good to see you!”

“Likewise.” They broke apart and Sam frowned as he got a better look around Dean’s home. “Geez, I thought Benny was exaggerating, but you really are a fucking mess.”

Dean automatically puffed up his chest, his usual bravado coming back. He’d spent so much of his life putting on a brave face for Sam it was like second nature to him.

“Just having a bad week, is all. I hope you didn’t come all the way out here just ‘cuz Benny’s telling tales. Eileen’ll kill me if I stole you away for nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Dean.” Sam walked past his brother and took over Benny’s seat on the bench. “You need me. That’s never nothing.”

Great. More talking.

Resigned, Dean followed his brother and flopped back onto the bench. He really wished he hadn’t finished off the ale already.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but I’m fine. Seriously. You didn’t need to come out here.”

“Who else is going to talk sense into you? Apparently you’ve been ignoring Benny, and from what he’s told me, I think he’s right.”

Dean grew pale. What exactly _had_ Benny told Sam? Surely he’d mentioned Castiel, but had he brought up Lucifer? Dean hadn’t wanted Sam to find out about this at all, and certainly not before it was over. He’d try to talk Dean out of it, even though Sam _deserved_ this revenge.

“Listen, Sam—”

“No, Dean, _you_ listen.” Steeling himself with a deep breath, Sam continued. “Yes, Lucifer used me and abandoned me for fun, and yes that sucked, but it’s in the past. I’m _over_ it, Dean. I’m _happy_ with my life. As shitty as everything in Helheim was for me, I wouldn’t undo any of it now if I had the chance. I needed for it to happen to have Eileen come into my life. She’s worth it to me. And if _I’m_ able to put what Lucifer did behind me, then _you_ need to let it go, too.”

“But—”

“You love him. This Castiel. You love him, right?”

Dean looked away but nodded. If Dean didn’t admit it, his current misery made it clear enough.

“You love him, and you pushed him away. You played with his heart for your own amusement. How is that not as bad as what Lucifer did?”

The worst part was Sam was right. Dean had prayed upon a younger man’s hope and affection, purposefully _used_ him with no regard for his feelings, and then abandoned him like he was nothing. He was in every way like Lucifer, except that he _cared_ about Castiel and he’d done it anyway.

There was no defending what he’d done, so Dean didn’t bother.

“I’m an asshole.”

“I mean, I’ve been saying it for years—”

Dean punched his brother’s arm. “Shut up, bitch.”

Sam punched him back. “Jerk.”

“I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“No shit. Benny’s waiting for you to give the word. They’ll help you find Cas and _maybe_ , if you grovel enough, he might take you back.”

He grimaced. “And if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“Then at least you tried and you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering if you’re both miserable for no reason.”

“Yeah… yeah okay. Tell Benny to get everyone ready. We sail in an hour.”

\----

Dean had few, if any, leads to go on. As soon as Castiel left the house, he’d made his way to the port and taken the first boat leaving Lawrendalr. The ship had been headed south for trade; Helheim was south, and Dean figured Lucifer’s home was as good a place as any to start his search.

None of the crew complained about the brutal pace Dean set for them and none bothered Dean. There were no words of comfort or encouragement, simply the task at hand: find Castiel and bring him home. The winds were with them and they were steady on the oars, making the three days worth of travel in but two. As Helheim appeared on the horizon, Dean wondered what he’d find.

What if Castiel wasn’t even there? What if he was too late? What if Lucifer had taken his anger out on him—

 _Don’t think about it,_ he scolded himself. _One problem at a time._

The village clearly remembered their last visit; though they hadn’t taken much aside from Castiel, they’d wreaked havoc looking for him. As soon as they saw the Viking sails approaching, they all scattered. By the time they stepped ashore, not a person was in sight. They stalked through the village and Dean felt eyes on him, certain they were being watched from each home and building they passed.

It didn’t matter. Dean wasn’t here for them. So long as they didn’t stand in his way, they could keep their lives and their meager possessions.

Being back in Helheim looking for Cas brought on a strange sense of deja vu, but though the purpose of this raid was identical, the circumstances couldn’t be more different. Dean wasn’t cocky and excited to get his plan underway. This time Dean was a bundle of raw nerves, anxious to see Castiel and get out of this godforsaken village and never think of it or its people ever again.

Dean’s right hand tightened around his ax, his left arm keeping his shield raised. No matter how docile these people appeared right now as they cowered inside, Dean wasn’t get to let anyone get the jump on him.

Not a single soul, human or dog or bird, crossed their path. Not a single sound other than the wind and their own footsteps accompanied their short trip to the heart of the village. There was a whole lot of nothing as they approached Lucifer’s keep.

The gates were half open, which was a bad sign. Good way to get an arrow through your belly, walking into a trap this obvious. Hiding behind his shield, Dean tried to look inside. The place looked abandoned, at least from this vantage point, so he took a chance and pushed the gate farther open.

The courtyard was empty. It looked like the guards had left in a rush. The stables were open, a lone horse wandering around the stalls and nosing at stray straws of hay. The big wooden doors of the house were ajar, further invitation inside.

Dean shared a look at Benny, who shrugged. Dean motioned for the rest of his men to spread out and search the rest of the keep while he, Jo, and Benny approached the main door. Just as they were about to barge in, the door burst opened and out ran a man loaded down with loot. Too late, he saw Dean and his men and tried to run back inside, but two strides and Benny had him and forced him to the ground.

“Please, don’t hurt me! I didn’t—It wasn’t—I never laid a hand on the boy, I swear!”

“Best start speaking sense,” Benny said as he tilted the man’s head back, forcing him to look Dean in the eyes and expose his neck. “Castiel the boy you’re talking about?”

“Yes—”

“He hurt?” Dean had his ax ready to swing if he didn’t like the answer he heard.

“Please, I was just following orders. I wasn’t even with the men who brought him back!”

Benny yanked his hair and the man yelped. “I told you to speak some sense. What happened?”

“Lucifer, he sent out men to find his nephew and bring him back. Not just his regular muscle, but mercenaries. Some of them found him in some village a few days ago. Tried to bring him back but he didn’t want to come. He killed one of them, injured another, and they didn’t take too kindly to it. They had to rough him up to do it.”

“But he’s alive?” Dean demanded. “And he’s okay?”

“Bruises, a black eye… Nothing permanent. He’s lucky it was Lucifer’s own men who found him and not the mercenaries. They’d have killed him for sure for such treatment.”

Thank the gods, Cas was alright. And apparently had killed one of Lucifer’s goons, which was all sorts of impressive for a young man who’d never even handled a blade a year ago. With enough training and encouragement, Cas might make a decent Viking someday.

_Focus. Rescue Cas first, plan out your happily ever after later._

Dean shook his head to clear it. “Where is he?”

“Where’s _everyone_?” Benny added. “Man of Lucifer’s means, no way he’s only got you to guard this place.”

“Word came that your ship was spotted. We’ve heard enough tales of Dean the Ruthless and how you earned that name. If you’re that cruel to men who’ve done you no personal grievance, what would you do to _us_ who hold your beau captive?”

“You aren’t wrong. Castiel. Where. The fuck. _Is_ he?”

“Inside the great hall. Lucifer keeps him chained up in there like a dog.”

Dean nodded to Benny and he let the man go. He rubbed at his scalp and looked fearfully between Dean and Benny.

“Anyone else left around or just looters like you?”

“There might be some servants, but no one who has any skill with a blade.”

“Alright.” Dean grabbed the man’s dagger and stuck it into his boot alongside his own, then jerked his head towards the gate. “Take your spoils and get out.”

“... Really?” The man cowered as though he feared the moment he turned his back, they’d kill him for sport.

“You lay a hand on Cas?”

“No?”

“That a question?”

“No! No, I never touched him! I… I guard the door, I’m not—”

“Shut up. Don’t care. Leave before I change my mind.”

Not needing to be told again, he picked up his sack and fled. Good riddance.

The second they entered the great hall, a spear rooted itself in the door near Dean’s head. He raised an eyebrow, impressed by the show of strength but surprised that it would’ve missed its mark so wide.

“Dean.”

His blood ran cold and he snapped his attention to the man at the other end of the hall. He sat on a chair, raised up on a platform as though it were a throne, and watched idly as Dean crossed the distance between them.

Lucifer Goddson, in the flesh.

It’d been years since Dean had seen him in person, but he’d recognize those cold, dead eyes anywhere.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting my keep? Didn’t think you and I were on friendly terms since that business with Sammy.”

“It’s Sam, asshole. You don’t get to call him that.”

“I seem to recall he didn’t mind it so much. Even _liked_ it—”

“Shut up. I’m not here for that shit. Where’s Cas?” It physically sickened him to have to even speak to this vile excuse for a man, but Dean was more than willing to put up with these attempts to get under his skin, because he _wasn’t_ here for Sam or revenge or even himself. He was here to save Castiel.

“Cas? I don’t think I know anyone named Cas. Had a nephew named Castiel up until a few months ago when the whore ran away with Viking skum and threw our good name in the dirt. I _do_ have a puppy, though. Maybe you mean him?” Lucifer reached for a chain at his side and jerked it. Castiel toppled over from where he’d been hidden behind Lucifer’s chair.

His hair was matted with filth and his clothes were torn and soiled beyond repair. Chains bound his legs and hands, a gag kept him from talking, and he looked like he’d missed a few meals, but it was definitely Cas. The promised black eye and bruises marred his skin, but otherwise he looked unhurt. Good. Dean would hate to have to track that cowardly piece of shit down and kill him for having lied.

“Cas, you okay?”

The boy didn’t even look at Dean, he just continued to glare murder at his uncle. Not that Dean blamed him for the cold treatment, not after the way they’d parted.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Cas. I’ll get you out of here. We’re going home.”

At that Castiel’s head whipped around. He stared at Dean

“Well, as touching as this reunion is,” Lucifer said as he rose to his feet. The chain slipped out of his fingers and now Dean could see it was bolted right to the armrest of Lucifer’s mock throne. “I’m going to have to cut it short. Castiel’s not going anywhere. My ward has been nothing if not a pain in my ass since my late brother died, and after the trouble he’s caused me lately, I’m not about to let him out of my sight. Not until I’ve taught him his place, made sure he’s good and _obedient_ for his next wife, once I find someone who will take his defiled little—”

“You think I care?” Dean said. Lucifer’s jaw clicked audibly as he shut it; Dean doubted the man had ever had to deal with such rude behavior in his life. Good. The man deserved to be knocked down a few pegs. “About any of the bullshit you’ve got planned? Let me tell you something, you pompous son of a bitch. This ends one way: with me and Cas walking out of here and going home. There’s no version of this story where you come out ahead. I’m not even sure there’s a version where you come out _alive_ , so don’t press your luck trying to make demands.

“So why don’t you give me the keys to those chains and maybe start groveling at my feet. _Then_ , maybe, I’ll care what you have to say.”

Lucifer’s face was bright red. His mouth moved uselessly as he struggled to find the words for his rage. “You _insignificant_ little _insect_. You come into _my_ home and you think you can—?”

“Jo?” Dean called, not bothering to glance behind him to make sure she was ready. “Shoot him.”

“What—?”

The air snapped as a crossbolt was loosed. It whizzed by Dean before there was the telltale sign of metal slicing through flesh. Lucifer stared down at the feathered end of the bolt, grasping at it with feeble hands before sinking to the ground. He gasped and drew shallow breaths, each one an ordeal.

“Should’ve groveled,” Dean said as he kneeled beside Lucifer. As much as he wanted the man to suffer through the slow agony of dying from his injuries, a much larger part of Dean wanted this over with. He grabbed a dagger and slit the man’s throat in one deep cut. Before the light had even left Lucifer’s eyes, Dean had grabbed the ring of keys around his belt and was gone.

He’d thought Lucifer’s death would be more satisfying than this, but in the end, he didn’t much care. It was certainly a more just revenge than he’d hoped to deliver, one he looked forward to telling Sam about, but his priorities had shifted since he’d first started plotting.

Now he had a young man to finish rescuing.

Dean was vaguely aware of Benny and Jo wandering off to check in with the rest of the crew (and no doubt to peruse the home for valuables), but he honestly didn’t care. He only had eyes for Cas.

The gag was first and then the chains. Dean sat there beside Cas, kneading the red, angry marks left by the chains and pointedly avoiding eye contact. Cas didn’t pull away, which was something, but Dean was terrified to speak up and possibly ruin ever being with Castiel again.

“You came for me,” Cas whispered uncertainly. “You… you actually… I thought..”

Dean looked up. “Of course I came for you.”

He saw nothing but disbelief in Cas’ eyes and Dean growled in frustration. Yeah, he deserved it, but it still stung.

“Cas, I'm so sorry. I should've never even… I've known for a while I'm in love with you, I just didn't want to believe it. But you're it for me. You're amazing and I don't deserve you. I’ll _never_ deserve you, but I’ll try. I’ll try every day. If you forgive me for how awful I've been, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, Cas.”

“The rest of your life, huh?”

“I swear it. On anything. My home, my ship, my life… my _heart_ … any sign of fealty I can give—”

“It’ll take more than words, Dean.” He scooted closer to Dean.

“I’ll _show_ you, too, if you let me.” “You have but to ask, and I’ll do it.”

“Hmm.” Castiel made a show of considering what to ask for. “Kiss me.”

Dean’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as he learned forward. He stroked Cas’ cheek, smearing the dirt there. Their lips met tentatively, unsure of each other for the first time since they’d been together, but it slowly melted into something familiar and reassuring. Cas was alive and unhurt, Lucifer couldn’t hurt him or Sam or _anyone_ anymore, and Dean was going to spend the rest of his life taking care of Cas.

“Anything else?” Dean breathed when they pulled apart, noses still touching and foreheads resting against each other.

“Hold me.”

Already wrapping his arms around Cas, Dean kissed his temple. “Done.”

They stayed like that a moment. Cas was practically in his lap and nearly suffocating him with a vice like grip, but Dean could think of nowhere he’d rather be.

“Anything else?”

Cas sighed and nodded. Dean waited patiently for him to answer.

“Take me home.”

Joy flooded through him. Things weren’t fixed, not by a long shot, but they would get there. Dean had faith.

“Sure thing, sunshine. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue:**

“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked. His hand was on the door, ready to push it open, but he turned back to Cas and gave him a worried look. “You don’t have to—”

“I know. We’ve talked about this. I can handle it. And if I can’t, my strong Viking husband will save me.”

Dean smiled at the praise, winking at Cas. “Damn right I will.” Then his expression turned serious once again. “Take it easy, don’t do anything stupid, alright? It’s gut wrenching the first time you go on a raid. If it’s too much—”

“It’ll be fine, Dean.” He stepped in close and snaked his arms around Dean’s waist. Without further prompting, Dean leaned down for a kiss. Once they were breathless and far closer to being aroused than they should be after such an innocent display of affection, Castiel nibbled at Dean’s earlobe. “Besides,” he whispered, “I _like_ having you help me with my first times.”

If it were up to Dean, he’d have thrown Cas back onto their bed and shown him exactly how affected he was by his teasing. As it was, they didn’t have time. The ship was in sight of land and the rowboats were no doubt ready to head ashore.

When they got back, though...

“So,” Cas teased as they headed up to the deck. “Does this mean _you’re_ **_my_** Viking wife now.”

Dean stopped short and cursed under his breath. “Dammit, Cas! You can’t just say shit like that when we have to go kill people! How am I supposed to pillage when I’m half-hard, huh?”

“It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

Knowing everything Dean did about Castiel’s past—how _he’d_ been the one to secretly poison and kill his wife, how he’d killed not one but _two_ of Lucifer’s men who’d tried to take him, and how Dean had seen firsthand how good he’d gotten with his short sword—he didn’t doubt it for a second.

Of course if he _didn’t_ believe Cas was up for it, there was no way he’d have let the boy on his boat to begin with. It’d taken almost a year to reach this point, and Dean truly believed Cas was ready.

He was so damn proud of him, too.

“Well then,” Dean said as he climbed into a rowboat. He helped Cas over the side of the boat and double-checked they had all their armor and weapons before nodding at Benny to  “Let’s make this official. Let’s make you a _real_ Viking.”

 

* * *

 

**Bonus Scene 1:**

**Cas:** Benny the Bold… Jo the Amazon… Dean the Ruthless… What will they call me?

 **Dean, with heart eyes:** Cas the Beautiful?

 **Cas:** *blushes*

 **Jo:** I think someone’s going to have to change my name to name to ‘Jo the Sick of This Romantic Bullshit.’

 **Benny:** You and me both. Too much more and we mutiny.

 **Jo:** Agreed.

 **Dean and Cas:** *too busy staring at each other to even notice*

 

**Bonus Scene 2:**

Okay but can you imagine Dean and Cas having this friendly competition every time they go out on a raid? Like, whoever gets the most loot or the most valuable supplies gets to be in charge until the next raid. So Cas is always struggling to win so _Dean_ has to be the “Viking wife” when they get back home, and Dean (who doesn’t actually _care_ ~~because that boy _wants_ Cas to own his ass~~ ) doesn’t make it easy for him. He uses it to make sure Cas really is a good Viking and can do the job right. So when Cas _finally_ wins, they both know it’s a legit win.

~~And then he spends the next month fucking Dean into the mattress and making him sit on Cas’ lap when they’re out in public.~~

 


End file.
